The only thing
in which he really seemed interested was the coon skin he was
dressing to send to Boston. Over that he worked by the hour,
sometimes with earnest face, and sometimes he raised his head, and
let out a whoop that almost frightened Mary. At such times he was
sure to go on and give her some new detail of the hunt for the
fifty coons, that he had forgotten to tell her before.
He had been to the hotel, and learned the Thread Man's name and
address, and found that he did not come regularly, and no one knew
when to expect him; so when he had combed and brushed the fur to
its finest point, and worked the skin until it was velvet soft, and
bleached it until it was muslin white, he made it into a neat
package and sent it with his compliments to the Boston man. After
he had waited for a week, he began going to town every day to the
post office for the letter he expected, and coming home much worse
for a visit to Casey's. Since plowing time he had asked Dannie for
money as he wanted it, telling him to keep an account, and he would
pay him in the fall. He seemed to forget or not to know how fast
his bills grew.
Then came a week in August when the heat invaded even the cool
retreat along the river. Out on the highway passing wheels rolled
back the dust like water, and raised it in clouds after them. The
rag weeds hung wilted heads along the road. The goldenrod and
purple ironwort were dust-colored and dust-choked. The trees were
thirsty, and their leaves shriveling.
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